


The Devil Comes and I Try to Stall

by randomlaugh



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Always-a-girl!Stiles, Angry Sex, Angst, Demons, F/M, Genderswap, Mythology - Freeform, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2013-11-15
Packaged: 2017-12-16 03:35:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/857310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomlaugh/pseuds/randomlaugh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles promised herself that she would stay away from all things supernatural but when something wicked makes its way to Beacon Hills, will she allow herself to be lured back in or will she be dragged back?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

_“We’ve received the results of the x-rays and luckily, Ms. Stilinski, you’ve sustained no broken bones. However, the MRI did confirm that your ribs and collarbones are severely bruised. You also have a dislocated shoulder and a mild concussion. I’ll have the nurse come in in a moment to clean up the rest of the scrapes and scratches along your back.”_

Stiles took a deep breath and stepped out of the bathtub. Her shower had been less than soothing, the water feeling like a horde of angry bees against her battered skin. It had been worth it though to wash off all the blood and grime; to finally scrub the dirt out of her hair (hair that would have to be cut short again seeing as she was missing a huge patch on the left side of her head from where it had basically been snatched out).

Gingerly wrapping a towel around her waist, she reached out a hand and swiped some condensation off of the bathroom mirror.

_“And you shouldn’t worry about her eye, Sherriff Stilinski. Subconjunctival hemmorages normally look worse than they really are but everything should be back to normal in about a week or two. I know the bruising looks something awful but we were lucky that the socket wasn’t fractured.”_

The sound of a glass breaking drifted through the door from downstairs, the unexpected noise causing her to jump then wince as pain from her ribs shot through her chest. She was pretty sure that her father was scouring the kitchen for his hidden stash of alcohol right now (and coming up empty since Stiles had tossed everything she could find months ago). John Stilinski was a good man, a good father, but even he had his limits and Stiles was sure he had hit his when she came stumbling into the sheriff’s station drooling blood.

While she wouldn’t say that she dreaded the conversation she knew she would have to have with her father, Stiles wasn’t exactly enthused about it either. She had promised to tell him everything when they were on their way to the hospital; had begged him to just wait until she _could_ explain everything. Too much had happened for her to just go “so about those mountain lion attacks. . .” after showing up at his job looking like death warmed over and expect him to take everything in stride.

The secret of the werewolves’ existence was never one she felt was hers to tell but she needed her father to know about what was going on in the town. She needed to be sure that there was someone that she could rely on should things go sideways again, a prospect that was practically a certainty in Beacon Hills.

Because if there was one thing Stiles had learned over the last 24 hours, it was that there were very few people that she could trust in her life. Her father was one of them. Her father might be the only one.

 _Well, not_ just _one thing,_ she thought as her eyes traced a thin scratch that ran down the side of her face. It was a tiny thing, really. Probably would be gone before the rest of her bruises healed up. But she didn’t need to see it to remember the feel of it being placed there. To remember _who_ put it there.  


No, that she would never forget.

So Stiles would tell her father everything. She would tell him about the werewolves and the kanima and the Argents and the damn Alpha pack. She’d explain to him why she currently looked like a squashed blueberry and hope to God that he stayed out of it because that’s exactly what she planned to do. She was done with the supernatural, mythological bullshit and everything that came with it (except Scott. She liked Scott. Scott could stay).

There were times when Stiles wished she had the ability to go back in time to that moment when she found out about the then unidentified body of Laura Hale being discovered in the woods and punch herself in the face. Maybe her life would have turned out different. Maybe everyone’s life would have turned out that much easier.

 _Maybe_ , she thought, trailing a finger over the thin scratch and pressing down till she felt a sharp twinge of pain. _I wouldn’t feel like ripping Derek Hale’s heart out through his asshole._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo, new fic! It's been a while and I'm not sure how good I'm going to be at updating but I'm hoping for this to be a weekly occurrence. Don't kill me if it's not, though.
> 
>  
> 
> Title taken from Fergie's Voodoo Doll.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles had always imagined that her first job would be something cool. A barista at the local café or a cashier at a little hideaway bookstore was what always used to come to mind when she pictured herself working. Hell, she’d even had fantasies of working in the old dusty public library that hardly anyone frequented anymore but always seemed to have the best selection of new releases in their DVD section.

Waitressing was more of a back-up, _back-up_ choice.

And it wasn’t that she didn’t like the job. _Margot’s_ was practically a town landmark in Beacon Hills, with the diner having been opened since before even Stiles’ dad was born. Many of the patrons that frequented the eatery were people that Stiles knew since she was a kid and usually took it upon themselves to reward her for “finally cleaning up her act” by tipping generous amounts at the end of their meal. Since starting the job six months earlier, Stiles had already earned enough money to pay for a complete overhaul on her Jeep’s engine.

Her father had been surprisingly supportive of her decision to get a job, only warning her to mind her grades once at the very start of the job. Stiles figured that he was just satisfied with the fact that she was finding other ways to occupy her time now instead of the more dangerous alternative.

“Stiles, can you take this order over to the Williams’ table for me, please? I gotta take this call.”

Stiles looked up from where she had been lost in thought wiping down the countertop to look at her co-worker. Felicia had a pleading look on her face that rivaled even Scott’s best puppy-dog look but just like Scott, Felicia’s had lost its potency after the first couple hundred times she’d leveled it on Stiles.

“Is that Bailey?”

Felicia’s slight hesitation was enough of an answer for Stiles. She rolled her eyes and turned back to the counter.

“Come on, Stiles, please?” Felicia whined, coming over to tug on her apron string. “He keeps calling me.”

“I’m pretty sure most of those newfangled devices you kids call cellphones come with an ignore feature.”

“He calls with the number blocked.”

Stiles had to turn around at that and level a skeptical look Felicia’s way. “Then how do you know it’s him?”

“Because no one else is crazy enough to call me six times in a row -every hour- for the past 10 hours, that’s how I know.” Felicia said with an aggravated huff. “Please, Stiles? I just want to tell him to back off. He knows it’s over between us.”

“Apparently not,” Stiles muttered. Then a bit louder, “Go on, answer that creeper’s call. I’ve got it. But don’t think I’m sharing the tip with you.”

Felicia smiled and passed a tray of dessert off to her before disappearing back into the kitchen, leaving Stiles to just shake her head as she picked up a carafe of coffee on her way to the waiting table. The other woman had been an unexpected but welcome surprise for Stiles when she had been introduced to her at the diner, the two of them clicking almost instantly. Felicia was in her final year at the community college in the next town over and had chosen to work and stay at home in Beacon Hills while attending school so that she could save up a bit more money before she transferred to a university. Scott would always be her best friend but he was still a guy and it was nice to finally have a girl around that she could talk to about things. At one time, Stiles had thought that maybe she could have had that with Lydia. Maybe even Allison. Things, however, didn’t quite end up that way.

Stiles was trying her hardest to appear unperturbed by Mrs. Williams’ story about how her miniature pincher finally had a bowl movement while the older woman ate a bowl of chocolate mousse when the chime above the diner’s entrance sounded. Sending up a silent prayer of thanks to the diner gods, Stiles excused herself from the table and turned around to head back behind the counter only to stifle a groan of annoyance when she saw who came in.

“Hi Stiles.”

“Hey Marshall, what’s up?”

Marshall Devereaux had transferred to Beacon Hills High at the beginning of Stiles’ senior year and, for reasons she couldn’t fathom, had found himself enamored with her. He was a cute guy -all blond curls and pouty lips- but unfortunately for him, and everyone else, did not have a filter. Marshall had a tendency to say the most ridiculous things at the most inappropriate times and usually ended up spending the rest of the conversation backpedaling when he finally became aware of his offense. He kind of reminded Stiles of herself a few years back, before she learned that silence -not honesty- was the best policy.

“Nothing much,” he replied as he slid onto one of the stools. “You look really pretty today, Stiles. Did you cut your hair again?”

“Yes, I did,” she replied shortly, hoping to keep this conversation as brief as possible. “Are you ordering something, Marshall? You know Maggie only wants people at her counter that are actually willing to buy food, right?”

“You know, you always reminded me of Twiggy. You know, the supermodel?” he said, barreling on as if Stiles hadn’t said a word. “Not that you’re as skinny as her. You’re actually kind of thick. But not, like, black girl thick. You know?”

“No, I don’t know.” Felicia answered as she came out of the kitchen with a blank look on her face. “What exactly is “black girl thick”, Marshall? Do you have an issue with the African American woman’s physique?”

Stiles had to stifle a laugh as Marshall looked around wildly, mouth opening and closing as he tried to explain himself.

“No! There’s nothing wrong with a black woman’s body. African American? Neg—no!” he exclaimed as Felicia raised an eyebrow. “You have a great body Felicia. I’ve always loved your ass. Not that I’ve been looking at your ass! I just noticed that it’s nice. Stiles has a nice ass, too.”

“Annnnd, I’m done.” Stiles said as she walked away, content to let Felicia deal with Marshall. She knew the other woman wasn’t offended and was more than likely busting Marshall’s balls but Stiles didn’t have time to stick around and see the kid dig himself a deeper hole. She had customers to deal with.

 

***

 

Stiles was exhausted.

The diner was finally closed for the evening and all she wanted to do was go home, take a hot bath and face-plant into bed. The last couple hours at _Margot’s_ had been brutal with apparently the whole of Beacon Hills deciding to boycott the use of their kitchens that night. She had earned every tip she’d received that night, the infamous Stilinski charm working overtime as she bounced back and forth between customers. Stiles didn’t pull closing shifts too often at the diner because of school but _Margot’s_ owner, Maggie, had asked her personally to cover for that weekend. Three of their regular waitresses hadn’t shown up all week so Maggie needed all the help that she could get.

“You working the night shift tomorrow, too?” Felicia asked as she locked up the diner entrance, the both of them waving at the cook as she gave a farewell honk as she left the parking lot.

“Yeah. I told Maggie I couldn’t do Sunday, though. I have to work on my _Moby Dick_ paper.”

Stiles could hear the confusion in the other woman’s voice as she asked, “I thought you turned that in already?”

“I did but it seems that my interpretation was not appreciated.” Stiles said with an eye roll. “According to Ms. Jeffries, Ahab’s obsession with a big, white whale named Dick has nothing to do with erectile dysfunction. I don’t think she’s actually read the book.”

Felicia just shook her head, a smile playing about her lips as she pocketed the keys to the diner. “You good to go?”

“Yep. I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Later.”

Stiles waved goodbye to Felicia as she got into her car and watched as she pulled out onto the street before jogging off to the side of the building where her Jeep was parked. She was just unlocking the driver’s side door when an unexpected voice caused her to nearly drop her bag, the familiar tones the only thing stopping her from letting out a loud shriek.

Whirling around, she swung her bag at Marshall half-heartedly. “Jeez, dude. You scared the crap out of me. What are you still doing here? I thought you left hours ago.”

Marshall just tilted his head to the side; his normally expressive blue eyes staring blankly back at her. Stiles tensed and took an apprehensive step backwards, her hand reaching behind her for the door handle. She could feel the fine hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. _Something’s not right,_ she thought.

“Marshall, you okay there bud---”

The hand around her throat was unexpected, Marshall’s body backing her up against her Jeep and pressing in close along her front as he took in a long, deep breath at her temple. Stiles had no room to call out for help, the hand on her neck squeezing tight enough to bruise. Her eyes widened when Marshall pulled back and she watched his eyes slowly change from blue to a deep red. She could feel her heartbeat pick up speed as her vision started to blur along the edges.

_This can’t be happening. Not again._

“I must admit, the kid has good taste.” The voice that spoke was not Marshall’s. It was deeper, darker; rough like gravel over bare skin. The sound sent chills down Stiles’ spine. “I think I might actually enjoy this summoning after all.”

“You may want to reconsider that.”

Stiles was free in the next moment, the sudden influx of air leaving her dizzy as she gasped for breath and sank to the ground. She tried to get her breathing back under control as she blindly reached a shaking hand up and back behind her for her keys that were still dangling from the door lock, the little silver canister that she wanted on one of its key rings.

 _Derek. Of course Derek’s here,_ she thought bitterly. _Weird shit can’t happen if he’s not involved somehow._

Dragging herself up to lean against the Jeep, Stiles turned to where she could hear a cacophony of growls and snarls, her finger on the nozzle of the canister now in her hand. Isaac and Derek were grappling with not!Marshall and seemed to be having a surprisingly hard time getting him to submit. Stiles watched as the arm Isaac had managed to wrap around Marshall’s neck was jerked away and then down over his shoulder, the loud snap capable of being heard even from nearly halfway across the parking lot.  


Isaac’s scream of pain was eclipsed by Derek’s roar of anger, the older man rushing forward with claws at the ready only to be thrown back by a blast of dark energy, landing just feet away from Stiles.

Marshall was laughing as Derek staggered back to his feet and positioned his body in front of Stiles', seemingly amused by the werewolf’s display of chivalry. Stiles had an irrational urge to push Derek out of the way. She didn’t want his help. She didn’t _need_ his help. She was pretty sure that this (whatever this was) was probably Derek's fault.

“Oh, I think I will have an amazing time while I’m here. Mieczysława, my dear,” Marshall called out to her, his voice shifting to something that sounded like contrition. “I’m afraid I must take my leave but I promise you, we will meet again.”

And then he was gone. Just empty air where a Marshall-shaped body should have been. Isaac was still on the ground, cradling his broken arm and looking around the parking lot wildly in disbelief at the disappearing act.

Derek had gone still in front of her, his head twitching slightly to the side as he tried to sense for Marshall’s presence before his shoulders eventually relaxed, the threat seemingly gone for now. He turned to face Stiles then, his eyes fading from their Alpha red as he gave her a quick once-over, his gaze pausing briefly at her neck before he finally met her eyes again. Derek’s face was all doom and gloom when he uttered four words Stiles didn’t want to hear from anyone, much less him.

“We need to talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO. . .
> 
> No excuses to be given here for my tardy update so I'll give out apologies to everyone instead.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles couldn’t find her phone.

She was sure she’d put it in her bag before leaving the diner, having called her dad to ask him if he wanted her to bring him something to eat at the station. Her messenger bag was like a miniature junk yard on even her best days and now, when she really needed something, it was like she was dealing with a bottomless pit.

“Stiles, are you listening to me? I said we need to talk.”

She was contemplating upending the thing on her front seat but nixed the idea immediately. If she thought her bag was a pit, then the space under her driver’s seat was a veritable black hole.

“Stiles!”

_Is that a hole_ , she thought. Her finger had caught on a sizeable rip in the corner of her bag and she was getting ready to rip the thing apart when a heavy hand landed on her shoulder.

“Are you even---”

“Get your fucking hand off of me Derek,” Stiles said, voice low and filled with venom. She raised her head in time to see the quick flash of red in Derek’s eyes before he clenched his jaw and dropped his hand. “We don’t have anything to talk about.”

Derek’s eyes widened incredulously at her. “You were just _attacked_! I think that warrants a little conversation.”

Stiles eyed him for a moment before she turned and finally opened the Jeep, tossing her bag in the passenger seat as she climbed in. A squeal of tires caught her attention and she looked over to see Derek’s Rav4 come squealing into _Margot’s_ parking lot before coming to a screeching halt next to where Isaac was slowly stumbling to his feet. Boyd hopped out of the driver’s side and rushed over to help Isaac to the car, a supportive arm going around his waist. Stiles had a sudden flash to a similar scene months back, Isaac covered in blood and propped up between Boyd and Derek as her screams echoed throughout the room. She quickly blinked the image away, not willing to go down that road just then.

“Stiles?”

At the sound of her name being called, Stiles looked over to see Scott rushing towards her from the other side of the SUV, Derek just barely moving out of the way in time to avoid being bowled over by the younger man. Scott practically yanked her out of the car to stand in front of him and she couldn’t hide her wince when one of his hands moved to land unerringly on the sore spot on her head from where it connected with the jeep earlier. His eyes flickered worriedly over her face and flashed red briefly when they landed on her neck before fading back to their normal color.

“What are you still doing here, Stiles?” he asked. “The diner closed over two hours ago.”

“We had to do prep –stop that!” Stiles groused, slapping at Scott’s hand when he made a move towards her neck. She’d had enough of people getting up close and personal with her décolletage for the night. “We had to do prep-work for the morning shift since we’re so short staffed this week.”

“We?”

“Felicia worked the closing shift with me tonight.”

Stiles saw the quick movement of Boyd’s head as he turned towards them out of the corner of her eye at the mention of Felicia’s name and knew without even looking that concern would be written all over his face.

When Stiles first started at the diner she had been dismayed to discover that Boyd was basically a regular at _Margot’s_ and that Maggie magnanimously allowed him the use of the booth in the back corner as a little study nook. After having gone the whole summer without running into any other werewolves not named McCall she’d been tempted to quit on principle, especially when she’d found out that the reason behind Boyd’s near constant presence was because of his relation to Felicia.

The Boyd siblings, Stiles found out, were a tight-knit duo and Boyd seemed to want to spend as much time with his older sister as possible. It was cute on many levels (and understandable considering the events of late) but it also made it harder for Stiles to stick to her vow to avoid members of a certain pack, a point proven when Isaac had made his first -and only- visit during her shift a month into her time at the diner. Stiles had stuck it out in the end though because the money was good and because she genuinely liked Felicia. As for Boyd. . . it was Boyd. The worst he’d done was to steal a bag of Doritos from her. It wasn’t his fault the people he dealt with had loser tendencies.

“She left before anything happened,” Stiles said, knowing that Boyd would read that as the reassurance she meant it to be. “You should take me home.”

Scott jerked at the sudden shift in conversation, eyes wide as he looked back at her in surprise. “What?”

“You should take. Me. Home.” Stiles repeated carefully as she grabbed one of Scott’s hands and slapped her keys down in the middle of his palm. “Now.”

Not waiting for his reply, she moved around to the other side of her Jeep and climbed in, calmly buckling her seat beat. Stiles could hear the quiet murmurs of Scott speaking with Derek, could see both of them casting glances back at her through the window but she didn’t care at that point. It wasn’t like Scott wouldn’t tell her everything the minute her got in the jeep anyway.

When her friend finally climbed in beside her a few moments later, Stiles waited until she knew they were well out of hearing range before she spoke up again.

“I’m going to preface this by stating that ‘I do not care’.” Scott opened his mouth to protest and Stiles quickly held up a forestalling hand. “‘I don’t care’ who died, ‘I don’t care’ who’s about to die and ‘I don’t care’ how whatever’s going on is about to fuck up this already fucked town. All I need to know is what it is so that I can keep it away from me and my dad.” She paused a beat then added, “Your mom too but you know that’s a given anyway.”

Scott had a frown on his face that had gotten progressively deeper with each word Stiles uttered. Scott was a good guy, always had been, and for some reason had decided to take on the role of guardian and protector of all things concerning Beacon Hills. And while Stiles thought it was extremely commendable, it was also incredibly naïve, particularly when one realized that they lived in a real-life Sunnydale.

“You know it’s not that simple,” he asked, casting quick glance at her as he got on the route that would take them to her house. “right?”

“Oh, trust me; I know it’s not that simple. If it were simple, the weird kid that’s been crushing on me since the beginning of the year would be just that: a weird kid. Not some suped up douche trying to eat me. And not in the fun way.”

Scott slowed to a stop at a red light and turned to face her. “Wait, you recognized who it was?”

Now Stiles was the one confused. “It was Marshall. I thought you all knew.”

“No! Isaac and I just caught the scent a couple nights ago down at the Preserve. Deaton said sulphur is normally a sign of a demonic presence but we didn’t know it was from someone already in town. When we caught the scent tonight, Derek had us split up to see if we could track it faster since it bounced around so fast.”

Stiles poked Scott in his side to get him to start driving again as she thought over what he had said. Even though the display of dark power was a pretty big indicator, Stiles was just happy to have it confirmed that they weren’t dealing with the Alphas again. Although, the idea of having a demon running around wasn’t any better either.

“Maybe Marshall’s just possessed.”

“Huh?”

Stiles started to gnaw on her nail as the idea bounced around her head. “I mean, Marshall’s weird but not _that_ weird. And the thing did say something about a summoning. Maybe someone called it forth and it manifested itself in the first vessel available: Marshall.”

“What if Marshall was the one to call it?”

“Like I said, not that weird. I’d suspect Greenberg before I thought Marshall was capable of doing something like that.”

“So who do you think summoned it?” Scott asked as he finally turned into the Stilinski driveway.

“Don’t know. That’s for you and the rest of your gang of misfits to find out.”

Scott turned off the engine and turned to face Stiles again. “But don’t you think it’s strange that it came to you? Like, was it after you or did Marshall’s subconscious lead it to you somehow?”

Stiles froze, the idea of being targeted again sending icy tendrils of terror shooting through her veins. Scott must have noticed the spike in her heartbeat because he was quick to backpedal.

“Or maybe we just fucked up and pushed it your way by accident! We don’t know.”

Letting out a slow breath, Stiles reached over and pulled her keys from the ignition, jangling them quietly as she avoided Scott’s gaze. Since the Alphas’ attack, Scott had done pretty well with keeping her out of the supernatural madness and if she had to go by the bruises he occasionally showed up with that sometimes took far too long to heal, Stiles knew that he’d had more than his fair share of incidents to deal with since then. Being pulled back in -coincidentally or not- was not something that she wanted to deal with, not after such a long lull and she knew Scott felt the same way.

“I don’t know what’s going on but I do know one thing,” Stiles said as she finally looked up at Scott. “I reek of kitchen grease.”

“Yeah ya do.” Scott said with a small grin.

“I’m going to go inside, take a shower and crash.” she said with a sigh. “I am officially done with this craptastic night.”

Scott opened his mouth to say something but seemed to change his mind as his gaze flickered down to her neck. Again. “That’s probably for the best,” he said with a nod.

The two of them got out of the jeep and Scott walked Stiles to the front door, lingering until she got it opened and stepped over the threshold. She turned back to face him and leaned against the door jamb.

“You going to be alright getting home or do you want to take the jeep?” she asked.

“Nah, I’ll be alright. Deaton actually wanted us to stop by if we found anything so I’m meeting everyone there.” He gave her another once-over. “You gonna be okay here by yourself? I could stay over?”

“I’m good,” Stiles replied with a shrug. “You be safe, though.”

Scott gently nudged her back into the house and pulled the door shut, leaving Stiles alone in the darkened entryway. After ensuring that the door was locked and bolted, Stiles turned and trudged her way upstairs and to the shower that seemed to be calling her name. She dropped her bag and keys on the hallway table before stepping into the bathroom, stripping down in the dark before jumping into the shower. If she had to guess by how often Scott had kept looking at her neck that night, it seemed that Marshall had given her a doozy of a bruising and she had no desire to see how bad it was just then.

Stiles’ fingers were on the verge of pruning before she decided to shut the water off and step out of the shower, feeling at least somewhat relaxed. She felt around for her towel and wrapped it around her waist before she made her way to her room only to come to a complete halt just outside her room door.

The house was still in darkness and the only light filtering into the hallway was coming from the crack under her closed bedroom door. Stiles remembered that she had left her curtains open that day and the glow of the street lamp that stood in front of her house made it easy for her to notice the shadowy figure that broke across the stream of light. Moving as quietly as she could, she backed up to the table where she’d dropped her things and wrapped her hands around the bundle of keys and the silver canister joined with them.

When Stiles had finally broken down and told her father about the existence of werewolves and the world they were connected to, there had been a lot of skepticism on his end (if skepticism was a new term for threatening to send her to a shrink). It wasn’t until she’d finally called Scott over and they’d given him undeniable proof in the form of fur and claws that he’d actually believed them.

His first response, after a long talk about keeping secrets and how they were obviously detrimental to one’s health, was to go directly to the Argents’ home. He stayed for hours discussing God only knew what but when he returned home, it was with a new _special_ ammunitions contract for the Beacon Hills Police Department and a small silver canister of military-grade mace laced with wolfsbane. Her father made her promise to never leave it too far out of reach and she’d tried her hardest ever since then to follow that request.

Stiles took a deep breath as she moved back to her bedroom door, ready to throw it open and spray down whoever was in the room before taking off. She didn’t care if she had to run down the street in just a towel; at least she’d get someone’s attention and/or help.

Just as she placed her hand on the doorknob, a familiar voice called out to her from the other side that made her want to spray the room down with mace anyway and go wait in the living room until the air cleared.

“It’s only me, Stiles.”

Stiles rolled her eyes as she pushed the door open, pausing briefly to glance at her desk where the dark figure sat perched on its edge before she moved fully into the room.

“That’s not as reassuring as you think it is, Derek.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight change in Boyd's canon character bio, hope you guys don't mind.


End file.
